


Rebirth

by edy



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alien Abduction, Aliens, Alternate Universe, Baptism, Choking, Depression, M/M, Mass Murder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 21:56:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7286155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edy/pseuds/edy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josh knows when They arrive. Josh is covered in blood. Josh is covered in blood. Josh swears it's fake blood, but it smells so real. It's so real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rebirth

**Author's Note:**

> inspiration: "march to the sea" by twenty one pilots and [these pictures](http://edyluewho.tumblr.com/post/145183923649)
> 
> translation into русский available: [Перерождение](https://ficbook.net/readfic/4891136) by [польза](https://ficbook.net/authors/21397)

Josh is covered in blood. It's cracked, dry, flicking away with a scrape of a thumbnail. Underneath Josh's skin is pink, stained from self-abuse and dye. His knees are to his chest, tucked safely from harm. The lawn chair is old, creaking every time he moves. Like a hurricane, it forces Josh to shut his eyes, to fall blind. He can't see. He can't see.

Tyler finds him in the lawn chair. He always finds him in the lawn chair. "Hey," Tyler says, digging keys from his back pocket and working open the front door. The late-night wind licks his hair and raises blush to his cheeks. Leaves wave on tree branches, power lines humming.

From the lawn chair, Josh shakes his head. He chews on the inside of his cheek.

This is their first meeting. They are strangers.

Tyler stands next to the front door, unlocked now, drifting open. "Hey," he repeats. "What's your name, pretty boy?"

Even Josh's hair is bloody. It's glued together, pasty. In the porch light, Josh's skin is ill, his cheeks hollow, his hair a deep and violent color. "Josh," he says. "My name's Josh."

"It's going to happen soon, Josh. You know that, right?" Tyler faces the entryway, keys twisting in his hands. The key ring is aged, turning Tyler's skin into iron.

"Tomorrow, I think."

"Is that why you're covered in blood? So you can be forgiven tomorrow?"

Josh shrugs. He chews on his cheek again.

Tyler takes a step into his house. "I'm Tyler."

Josh follows him inside.

*

They fuck in the kitchen, the sink filling up with water. Tyler's fingers are tight around the faucet, tight enough to pull it off, if he gives a giant yank. He doesn't yank. He whimpers, he squeals, Josh's hands on his hips and the sound of skin against skin and too much lube in his ears. They're not using protection. Tyler whimpers. Tyler squeals. Josh is covered in blood.

*

Josh uses his shower. Tyler raises a shaking glass of water to his lips, tossing in pain pills and drowning them.

*

Bed covers shoved to the floor, sheets damp from Josh's body, they fuck again. Tyler is sitting on Josh's hips this time, rolling, rocking, gasping at bucks, at scratches, at kisses to his chest, shoulders, mouth. They're messy and uncoordinated, hot, hot, hot.

"Kiss me good night," he whispers, Josh's semen on his thighs.

Josh does.

Sun in their hair, Josh's semen dried on his thighs, Tyler whispers, "Kiss me good morning."

Josh does.

Their breakfast is toast. Bland, tough to swallow, Tyler watches Josh from the corner of his eye. Tired, he's so tired. "Didn't sleep well?" asks Tyler.

Josh shakes his head. "It's going to happen tonight."

"Maybe it won't."

"You know it'll happen tonight, Tyler. Can't you feel it?"

Tyler can. It's in the air, static electricity and claustrophobia. "Maybe it'll pass us."

"They won't." Josh rips his toast into pieces. "They won't."

Josh leaves in Tyler's clothes. The doorjamb groans as Tyler leans against it. "Kiss me goodbye," he whispers.

Josh does.

*

It happens tonight.

Little units, bugs, they move from their houses, take it a step at a time. Parents, children, the elderly, the sick, they all walk, all stare ahead, all quiet.

On the beach they gather, hopping off the pier, landing in sand, stretching a line a mile and a mile and a mile long. Black hair, brown hair, ginger, blond, pink, green, blue, black, black, brown, they are as indistinguishable as ants. They are ants. They are ants.

As chaos erupts, everybody is still. Stare ahead, stare ahead please. There's more static in the air, charging, charging. A young girl drops to her knees, and her father yanks her back up. "Stop that," he says, no emotion, years of this behind him.

Tyler looks for Josh. He can't find Josh.

When They arrive, it becomes hard to breathe. "Into the water," They say, and one by one, like ants, like sea urchins, they stand in the water, get pushed under, held under for seconds, minutes, minutes, only allowed to surface until the bubbles stop.

"Stop that," the father says again. "Stop that."

One by one, they pop up like buoys. One by one, they're dead, and then brought back to life. One by one, they're shoved back onto the beach to get on all fours and vomit and turn their skin into sand. This is allowed. This is allowed.

Sometimes they don't come up. Sometimes they don't come back. They stand from the water and flop back in like fish. Their body twitches as it's dragged away. Tyler watches a little boy get taken. His mother doesn't even cry.

It's easier to let the water fill the lungs, easier to let go and die.

Tyler doesn't die. He's held under, claws in his hair, tight, unforgiving. He sinks dead and surfaces alive. Saltwater licks his eyes, staples his eyelashes together. He's gasping, coughing, and They release him, shoving him to the beach. Black eyes, sharp teeth, They hiss, "Next," and Tyler collapses on the beach, and the little girl goes under.

"You're taking too long," They say, and poke Tyler, long appendages, killer appendages. "Hurry up."

The girl comes back. Tyler stands, unable to stand, forced to stand. "Go home," They tell him. "Until next time."

The father goes under. Tyler walks, unable to walk, forced to walk.

Like chickens without their heads, they emerge from the beach and scatter, stumbling, groaning. They're not dead, but they're dead. "Save me," Tyler hears to his left. A hand grabs for his ankle. It's wrinkled, pruning. He ignores it, walks, has to walk. The streets will be cleaned before They leave.

The father doesn't say "stop that" anymore. In the distance, painful, the little girl cries. She cries and cries, and They tell her to go home. She doesn't leave the beach. Her body is taken with the others. Tyler holds in the tears, sobbing into the sofa once he's inside. "Save me," he's muttering, wet, shivering, pulling his legs to his chest. "Save me, save me, save me."

*

Tyler goes to work the next day. Everybody acts if nothing happened the night before because nothing had happened the night before. It's normal. It's normal.

In the lawn chair Josh sits, nonchalant, head tipped back, enjoying the last rays of the sun dipping below the trees. Tyler digs out his keys, nudging the chair with his hip. "Looks like you were right, pretty boy," he says, unlocking the door. "Looks like you came back."

"I always come back." Josh stands, knees wobbling, his cuticles bleeding. "I didn't want to come back."

"Is that why you went on a, a, a… mass murder spree?" Tyler steps into the house.

Josh follows him. "I work at a haunted house, dude."

*

They fuck in the kitchen again. The table knocks into the wall, creating a rhythm Tyler hopes to remember later. He wants to make a song about this. He wants to make a song.

Josh comes inside Tyler. It threatens to spill onto the tabletop. Tyler breathes. Josh breathes. "Good night," Josh whispers, and kisses Tyler. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, pretty boy."

*

This is their routine.

Josh knows when They arrive. Josh is covered in blood. Josh is covered in blood. Josh swears it's fake blood, but it smells so real. It's so real.

*

Sometimes They visit twice in a week, sometimes once a month, sometimes every three months. Tyler's mom told him They used to visit every five years. She didn't understand why They show up more frequently now. She stood in line, in front of Tyler one night, wearing a thick black sweater and a pair of snowshoes. It was snowing, and yet they were forced to come to this beach and dunk under the water. "This is the third time this month," she mumbled, looking over her shoulder at Tyler. "Do They really need all these bodies?"

Tyler didn't respond. They're supposed to be quiet. Be quiet, Mom, he wanted to say, but he didn't. He didn't.

He lost his mom that night, and in the morning, her clothes appeared on his doorstep. That's how he knew he lost his sister: her floral robe rested on the stoop. He carried it inside and held it to his chest, crying all the while. He thinks his brothers are still alive. He wonders who will get his dying clothes when he perishes.

*

Josh fucks Tyler twice more—once on the living room floor, and once in the hallway to Tyler's room. They crawl to the bed after both times, groggy, sore. Tyler wakes stuck to Josh, but Josh doesn't mind. He never seems to mind the mess.

In the morning, after their sixth fuck, chests heaving, sweat pooling, Tyler says, "I don't think They're coming tonight. I don't feel any different."

"Yeah." Josh swipes the back of his hand across his forehead, breathing, breathing. "I don't think They are either."

Tyler furrows his brow. "Why are you here then?"

Josh shrugs.

*

"I like you," Josh says, in the lawn chair, the sun having long set. "I really like you."

Tyler drops his keys. Clumsy from a night shift, tired from a night shift, he smiles softly at Josh. Hunched over, elbows on his knees, Josh looks tense, like he's been here for a while. He might have; Tyler doesn't often do late shifts like this. They don't even have each other's phone numbers.

Josh's body deflates once Tyler's arms come around him. It's awkward, a bit, Tyler leaning in to hug Josh's neck. He buries his face in Josh's hair. Josh strokes Tyler's wrist. They're silent.

Tyler pushes himself away, bending down to pick up his keys. "No sex, okay?" Tyler unlocks the door. "I'm exhausted."

Josh follows him inside. "No sex. Got it."

*

Josh curls behind Tyler and holds him as they sleep.

Josh fixes them breakfast, and afterward, they shower together. Josh gets them both off with soapy hands and laughter. Tyler clings to Josh, trembling, giggling.

They swap phones, adding in their information. Josh kisses Tyler's cheek. "I'll wash these clothes and give them back next time."

"You have so many of my clothes," Tyler says. "They look good on you."

Josh pats his stomach, kissing Tyler again. "Goodbye."

*

That night They come. Tyler looks for Josh, but he can never find Josh.

Tyler vomits on the beach. It doesn't get easier.

*

In the morning, Tyler finds a pile of clothes on his doorstep. He's on his way to work, bags under his eyes and his hair kept under a baseball cap. He steps on the clothing at first, stumbling, frowning, his foot caught on a sleeve. His initial reaction is to think of one of his brothers, but then he gets a closer look. And he crumbles, taking the skeleton leggings, the sweatshirt, hiding his face in the fabric, smelling of his own deodorant and laundry detergent and something else. There's something else. Tyler cries.

He can't get a day off. This is normal. This is normal.

Tyler shoves the clothes into the back of his closet, talking to himself, weeping to himself. There was no mother, no father, no siblings, just a fucking boy he fucked a few times. There is no one else, just a fucking boy he fucked a few times. There is no one, no one.

At work, Tyler sits behind the counter and goes through the motions.

He passes back change, hands over lottery tickets and cigarette cartons—all the while thinking, thinking _don't cry, don't cry, please, don't cry_.

On his break, he locks himself in the one-stall bathroom and cries.

*

It happens again that night. Tyler goes to the beach, following, standing behind a man with his niece. Both have red eyes, dark circles, frowns on their faces. They don't cry. They have learned not to cry.

Neither of them comes back. Their bodies are the last thing Tyler sees before he is reborn, their dead weight parting the shallow water as they are dragged toward a spaceship.

*

It happens again that morning. Two piles of clothes lie on his doorstep. Tyler has no one. Tyler is no one.

*

Tyler tries to text Josh while he's on break. Cooped up in the bathroom, his feet pressed to the stall door, he flicks through his messages, reading his final conversations with his sister, his brothers. Despite not speaking face to face for months, they tried to text every few days, often enough to know their love and compassion to each other.

His brothers were talking about basketball. His sister wanted to know what color she should dye her hair.

Tyler plucks toilet paper off the roll and holds it to his nose.

It makes sense he goes through the last exchange with his mother next. _Your dad misses you._ She had visited that evening, and then They took her. His mother always claimed to still be in contact with her husband even after all these years. "He says hi," she would say one day, or "He wants you to know you're loved" while Tyler is curled into a ball on the couch. She would sweep his hair off his forehead and tell him stories of his father, as if he never knew the man himself. Tyler shut his eyes. They heard Their arrival, and he returned home with no one. He is no one.

He blows his nose.

Josh's message stares at him. _Your ass looks great_ , he said, and Tyler doesn't remember the context. He doesn't deny it, though. He can't. Tyler sticks the wad of dirty toilet paper in the small bin, then picks up a menstrual pad wrapper from the floor and disposes of it, too.

Leaning back quite uncomfortably, worried about the toilet flushing by itself, Tyler texts Josh. _when are you coming back?_ he sends first, then _i miss your face_ , and _i like you a lot, too much for my own good_ after that. Tyler watches the texts get delivered. Nothing, nothing, Tyler closes his eyes.

A co-worker pounds on the stall door. "Tyler, my God, what are you doing in there?"

Tyler cracks open the door. "Sorry."

She is immediately sympathetic, pushing the door open the rest of the way and pulling him into a hug. "I lost someone last night, too." They squish together in the tiny stall, arms around torsos, around necks, breathing, just breathing. Tyler doesn't cry. She doesn't cry. He wonders who she lost—a sibling, a parent? Or was it a lover? Someone who shared her bed and kissed her good night, good morning, goodbye? Goodbye. Goodbye. Tyler wants to correct her, wants to tell her he's lost three people in the span of two days, but he doesn't. He doesn't.

*

He takes the lawn chair from the front porch and sets it out back, tripping over patio stones and stupid lawn decorations in the form of flamingos. The chair sets next to a large screen door now, illuminated by an overhead motion sensor light. He stands until it goes black. He stands in the darkness and feels dead.

*

The boy has a ring through his lip, right down the middle. He chews on it, sucks on it. Tyler watches him. "Can I see your ID, please?"

"I'm fucking twenty, bro."

Tyler picks at a nail. "Please. I need to see your ID." Rolling eyes, the boy passes it over. Tyler grins. "Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" The boy fumes. Tyler gives it back after a skim. "You're nineteen."

"Almost twenty. Gonna be twenty tomorrow."

"You're nineteen. What do you want?"

Tyler hates working the drive thru. It's tolerable during morning shifts, and sometimes during late shifts. He likes working those the best; it's vacant, only the odd customer coming in now and then. Tyler plays a game whenever someone walks in. Based on their appearance, and their appearance alone, he tries to decide how much gas they put in their car. He nearly always gets it right.

He doesn't like handling the tobacco products. He tries to get a co-worker to grab the things for him, but seeing as he so often enjoys working late, he's forced to touch the boxes and the cans and the cartons. He hates snuff the most.

The boy with the lip ring wants the red stuff. Tyler finds it easier to associate the names with colors. He's good at that. Tyler hangs around back, narrowing his eyes, listening to the shitty music playing over the speakers. Something about lost love. With his heart racing in his chest and tears prickling at his eyes, Tyler pulls back the carton's top, steals a pack, stuffs it into his back pocket, and re-tapes the box. Tyler hands it over like this, torn end facing away from the boy, who thankfully doesn't notice, just tosses it into the passenger seat before giving Tyler cash. "Have a nice evening," Tyler says. The boy scowls and drives.

At home, Tyler sits in the lawn chair and smokes twelve cigarettes. It gets easier.

*

He remembers finding Josh in the lawn chair, blood on his cheek and a cigarette hanging from his mouth. "Don't usually smoke these," Josh said, as Tyler fell to his knees. "Do you smoke?"

Tyler tugged at Josh's belt, hands fumbling at the button, the zipper. "No. I don't think I could ever do that."

"Good," Josh said, and took out the cigarette, blowing smoke, head tilting back, Tyler leaning in, not blowing smoke, blowing something, blowing someone in his front yard, the neighbors sure to see. He remembers porch lights flickering on, then quickly turning off. There were whispers passing between houses, nodding, shrugging, hands covering mouths.

Josh kissed him, and Tyler didn't even taste anything.

Tyler sits in that lawn chair every night after he gets off work. His knees are to his chest, and his whole body hums. He thinks They're going to come soon, but Josh isn't here to confirm it. Josh would know. Josh would know.

Tears land on his phone, rolling down the waterproof case and getting caught on his thumb. It rolls and rolls. Tyler sniffs.

_goddamnit josh,_  
_why did you do this to me? i hate you i hate you i hate you  
_ _i don't hate you i can never hate you please forgive me please forgive me_

Before he goes to bed, he sends _i want you to come back_.

In the morning, the messages have been read. Who takes the phones when They take the bodies? They drop off the clothes, but do They keep the phones? Tyler hates this. He hates this. He hates this.

*

Hood pulled over his head, Tyler stands in his backyard. He's shaking. It's cold outside. He blames it on the weather.

_i'm going to call you_

Once the message is read, Tyler gives a two-minute warning. It's read almost instantly. The sight rubs his eyes raw. He digs nails into his palm, leaving half-moon imprints, angry and red.

Tyler calls Josh. It rings. Someone picks up. "Hello?" Tyler says, but there's nothing. There's the sound of machinery, something running, and he swears he can hear breathing before the line cuts. He stares at his phone, shaking more visibly now. Fingers tight around his phone, tight around the hood over his head, he watches the three dots pop on his screen—typing, typing, but they disappear, and it doesn't come back. Nothing comes back. Tyler screams. He screams at the top of his lungs and kicks the lawn chair. The motion sensor light does not go off tonight.

*

Tyler is a coward. He wants to end his life, but he can't. He can't, he can't, he can't.

How can anyone keep living when everything is taken from them? How can anyone stand to live a life like this, when They come and take and take and take with no explanation, no end, no end. "Forgiveness," They said, dropping from the sky in their spaceship. "We will give you forgiveness. You are dirty, you are filthy, and We will save you. We are here to help you."

"Line up on the beach," They said, "and We will wash you, and you will be forgiven, but We can't save the ones who do not want to be saved."

Being saved is not for Tyler anymore. That'll be the quickest way to go, wouldn't it? If he shouts and yells and screeches? Take him, please take him, forever and ever.

Please.

*

They come on Tyler's birthday.

Tyler is at the kitchen table, picking apart wrappers from caramel candy he bought at a dollar store. There's a cupcake with a lit candle in the middle of the table. Tyler watches it, watches the flame flickering. The candle is going into its fifth minute burning. A wish pokes at Tyler's lips, cradling his tongue along with the caramel. They're heavy in his mouth, sweet, bitter near the end. There's a pile of tissues next to him, some used, some crumpled yet unused. Tyler is a mess, shivering even under three layers of clothes. He sucks on the caramel in his mouth, staring at the fire in front of him. A dozen wishes pokes at his lips. Little fingers claw at his tongue, pulling out his tongue, say it, wish it. Tyler's hands go to his face, hiding, shivering.

He thinks of Josh and blows out the candle.

And then, the whirling starts. Almost like a box fan on high, it rattles windows and threatens to break glass. The sound always makes Tyler's head hurts. He doesn't know if it's conditioning, if he's associated the sound of the spaceship landing with migraines. Every time he returns home, he needs to swallow pain pills.

He sits at the table for a minute, and then a minute more. The neighbors are piling out of their houses, going down the road. Tyler has never known a person to stay inside during Their visit. Does he stay? Does he stay? Tyler sticks his finger in the cupcake's icing, swiping a corner and tasting the buttercream as he leaves.

Her hair is blonde. Her nose is broken. Tyler follows her down the street, toward the beach. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" Tyler says. He touches her shoulder. "Weeks, maybe a month."

She shrugs off his hand and hurries down the street. Tyler continues his pace. "How many people have you lost? Too many, am I right?" This is directed at a mom with her teenage son. Tyler points at the son. "It doesn't get easier after this, kid. Might as well end it now." They rush away. Tyler feels like air. He's light, smiling, crying. The tears are coming freely now as he walks behind a person with a shaved head. "I hope I die tonight," Tyler mumbles, and they reply, "Boy, don't we all."

Tyler watches them get pulled through the water, Their hands on ankles, pulling, pulling. Tyler wipes his eyes. "Can I be next?" he asks as one of Them pass, long fingers curling.

Hissing, They take Tyler and shove him to the back of the line. Tyler cries.

It doesn't get easier. He's anticipating the water fleeing from his mouth, his nose, and him lying on the beach, sand clinging to his three layers of clothing. Who would get his clothes if he were to die tonight? A distant cousin? The church? There is no church. There is no God.

Halfway through the line, Tyler's phone vibrates. The sensation is unwelcome, and the reaction causes him to retch. He holds onto his knees, bending over at the waist. From his side, They force him to stand, teeth clacking and hissing once more. Tyler rubs his eyes and wipes his nose with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Words bubble up, but nothing surfaces. A little girl watches him, her hand on her mother's skirt. Tyler sticks out his tongue. Eyes wide with fright, she turns back around. Tyler takes out his phone.

_Leave. Tyler, listen to me, you have to leave_

Josh, Josh, Josh. Tyler squeezes his phone, the case cracking. More messages incoming. Tyler forgets how to breathe.

_Tyler, please, please, please_  
_They're going to take you tonight. You have to get out of there  
_ _It isn't just you. It's going to start with you. More people will die. They're not going to let the survivors leave. Tyler, you have to get out of there while you can_

Tyler is openly sobbing, his nose dripping, attracting the attention of the little girl and her mom, the man behind him, two of Them standing a few feet from the line.

_I'm at your house, Tyler. It's me. It's Josh. You have to believe me._  
_Tyler Tyler_  
_Tyler, you have to leave_  
_Now  
_ _Now_

And Tyler bolts, knocking over a man in a suit, a man in pajamas, a woman in sweats. He feels long fingers grabbing at his clothes, yanking, but he runs, he gets away from Them. He hears Them growling, hissing, spitting, and he hears the loading of a gun, the sound of whirling, of things found in nightmares. There are screams of people scrambling and leaving with Tyler. It only takes one person to kick-start a movement.

Tyler runs, bringing up sand, his feet slapping on asphalt. A girl with her hair in pigtails races past him, then trips, falls, and Tyler sees the big hole in the back of her neck, opening up her throat, blood spilling out as she talks, as she grabs for Tyler's ankle. "Save me," she croaks. Tyler runs.

The front door is open. A window is broken. His car alarm is going off, a motorcycle reared into the back, a taillight gone. Josh is here, a bag on his shoulder, jacket zipped, scarf around his neck. "Tyler." Josh drops the bag, and Tyler hugs Josh, all limbs and clumsy, and Josh kisses his ears, his forehead, his nose. "We have to get out of here. I'll explain everything later."

"Where are we going?" Tyler wipes his eyes. Josh gives him a bag.

"Put that in the sidecar. I'll explain everything later."

"My car—"

"We have to leave it."

More bags fall into the sidecar of the motorcycle. The neighbors are screaming, yelling for families. There's more whirling, more bloodshed. Nerves get the best of Tyler, and he falls to the grass. Josh continues to work, leaving Tyler's house a ruin. Tyler doesn't know what's in the bags. Clothes, most likely, and other necessities. Tyler hopes Josh packed his toothbrush.

"Get up," Josh says, his hands under Tyler's arms. "Put this on." A helmet knocks into Tyler's chest. "We have to leave."

"Josh," Tyler whispers, voice weak, head hurting, hurting so bad. "You came back."

Josh kisses Tyler. "Happy Birthday."

They put on their helmets, Tyler's arms loop around Josh's waist, and then they're gone, the screams of innocents in Tyler's ears. They're pleading, reaching for them when they drive by. "Save us," some say. "You have to go back," others squeal. "This line's the only way," They chant.

Tyler closes his eyes.

*

They're parked on the side of the road, the engine still running. It's dark out, no streetlamps, no life. Josh strokes Tyler's hands, his wrists, feeling the skin, the cold skin. "We're almost there," Josh says, his voice a shout in the silent night. "I don't think They'll find us there."

Tyler lolls his head around Josh's shoulders, no doubt uncomfortable due to the bulk of the helmet. "Where are we going?"

"Just a state down. There are… different ones here. They won't try to wipe out an entire neighborhood."

"How do you know?"

Josh shrugs. "Are you okay?"

Tyler shrugs.

Josh drives.

*

There's a field of flowers on one side of the road and a trailer park on the other. It smells of marijuana and barbecue. Tyler has trouble even carrying a bag on his shoulder. "Where are we?" he asks again, and Josh says, "I already told you: a state down," and Tyler thinks for a moment and says, "Kentucky," and Josh nods and says, "Yes, Kentucky."

The trailer park is neater than Tyler expects. The porches are well-maintained, as are the lawns. Some trailers are freshly painted, but then there are some that look abandoned and long vacant. Josh takes Tyler to one of these. "We'll be safe here," he says.

"Why are we here?"

"I told you," Josh repeats. "They won't wipe out an entire neighborhood here."

It's still dark out. Tyler doesn't know how long they had been driving. He goes over to a sink, turns it on. Water runs brown, then shifts clear. Tyler wrinkles his nose. Josh swoops in, jamming on a filter, patting Tyler's back. He rubs a shoulder. Tyler leans into the touch. "Did you pack any painkillers?"

Josh finds the bottle stuffed in the bag with Tyler's socks. "It gets better, I promise."

Tyler swallows three pills and filtered water. Josh rubs his shoulder more. "I'll fix the bed, and we can get some sleep."

Tyler's hands grip the edge of the sink, damp from the water splash. "I want you to fuck me."

A pause. Josh chews on the inside of his cheek. "I have condoms this time."

"I don't want you to wear a condom." There's a small window above the sink. Tyler looks out it, focusing on the trailer ahead of them—their new neighbors. A light is on in the living area, a big screen TV on the wall. The children are in bed, so the news is on. Tyler reads the headline _Horror in Ohio_ , and then _Massacre by Them, Hundreds Dead_. Tyler shakes.

Josh's lips press to his neck, rough, needy. Tyler gasps, and Josh wrestles with their jeans. Tyler is wearing three layers, had hoped the layers would have drowned him faster. It's a nuisance. It's all a nuisance. Tyler leans forward, grabbing the faucet. Josh is gone for a minute, not a second longer. "Push down your shorts."

"Make me."

Josh's hand comes around, holding Tyler's neck. He doesn't squeeze, never squeezes. Tyler backs into Josh. Josh rocks against him. " _Tyler_."

Tyler is wearing three layers. His jeans are down to his knees. He pushes down his basketball shorts, then his boxer briefs. Josh disappears, two knees against the tile floor. The faucet is smudged from Tyler's fingers. Slowly, he wraps his fingers back around it, edging forward and knocking his head against a cabinet at the appearance of Josh's tongue.

"You okay?"

"Fine."

Tyler goes back to the window, looking out, going to the television. The couple on the couch has turned on the subtitles. _Warning: Graphic Material_ flashes across the screen. The children can't hear this.

_Trouble with Them for months, maybe even years_

_"They started showing up more and more about a few years ago. I thought it was strange, but my dad told me not to worry."_  
_"Where is your dad now?"  
__"He's dead."_

Tyler's lips part, a low moan rolling out. Josh slides two fingers inside him, groaning himself. "Yeah, you're still ready for me. Always ready for me."

_"A town in Ohio was faced with…"_

_"We never expected this to happen."_

_"I always thought They were suspicious."_

_"We should never have trusted Them."_

_"And now everybody is worried about the presence of Them in their neighborhood. Will this happen more? Should we run Them off? Can we run Them off?"_

Josh's hand wraps around Tyler's throat again, sliding inside, comfortably inside. He sighs, and Tyler whimpers.

_"My dad is dead."_

_"Is anybody even really dead? Where do They take the bodies? We don't even get a funeral, just their damn clothes."_

_"What do you mean They don't kill anybody? I thought that happened everywhere."_

_"I don't feel safe."_

_"I don't feel safe."_

_"I don't feel safe."_

Tyler is crying again. His head hurts. He touches Josh's hand. "Squeeze," he whispers. "Choke me."

Josh does. Tyler has never felt more alive.

*

Tyler doesn't sleep well. The bed stretches from one side of the room to the other, resting on a low box-spring. Josh had struggled to pull on the sheets, tripping a few times and landing on his face. He didn't want help. Tyler sat in the corner and picked at the old carpet.

Tyler doesn't sleep well. The room is small, and he feels claustrophobic. It hurts to breathe. Josh lies next to him, an arm around a pillow, eyes shut, sleeping soundly. He's naked. They're both naked. Tyler counts four scratches on Josh's back, pink and inflamed against his pale skin. There are matching ones on Tyler's back, his chest, everywhere on his body. Sore, used, it hurts to get up. The bed creaks, his joints creak, everything creaks. Tyler stands on weak legs, mindful of Josh. Josh is snoring.

Tyler doesn't sleep well. Sun rays attach themselves to the walls, beautiful and simple. He's aching, grabbing clothes from the floor. Their bags remain in the kitchen, untouched, save for the one with Tyler's socks. A pill bottle is on a counter. It will become Tyler's breakfast. He finishes dressing, body heavy, sluggish. Josh's clothes cover his skin more appropriately than any blanket ever could.

Nearly dead, Tyler grips his phone, unlocking and locking. He tries to connect to Wi-Fi, but nothing free is available. From the kitchen window, the trailer across from them looks unoccupied. It's seven thirty in the morning. Tyler didn't sleep well last night.

Outside he goes, quietly shutting the front door and hopping down each wooden step. No one is here with him, though he doesn't expect anyone out this early. It's cold, it's seven thirty in the morning, and Tyler is alone.

The trailers are set in eight rows. Josh and he live in the fourth one. Some areas are gone, no trailers in sight. They must have been wheeled away. Where did they go? Did They take them? Would They take mobile homes? Tyler scratches his cheek. A sign is stuck in the ground next to the first trailer, the wood old and worn. _Safe Heaven_ , it says, and Tyler rubs his eyes. _A place away from Them_. He stands there, tugging the sleeves of Josh's hoodie over his palms, hiding his face after. He doesn't cry.

"That's a lie," he hears. A girl is at the door. She lives in the first trailer, her nails stained black from damage. She uses a black nail to point at the sign. "They still come, but it's not…" She shrugs. "You're new here. Did you come from Ohio?"

Tyler nods. He sticks his hands in the kangaroo pocket.

"Josh brought you, didn't he?"

"You know Josh?"

"Did he tell you?"

Tyler slowly frowns. "Tell me what?"

She waves him off, lights a cigarette, and goes back inside.

The next person Tyler meets is a burly man with an American flag tattooed on his leg. He's rushing out, a trash bag on his shoulder, still in his slippers. He tosses a hand at Tyler, so Tyler does it back. "Just moved in?"

"Last night."

It falters after that. The man returns to his trailer, and Tyler goes to his. He takes two more pain killers, looks out the window. The TV across from them is on—cartoons. The kids are up and eating cereal, laughing, smiling. The parents are happy, but there's something underneath that—worry. Tyler unscrews and screws the pill bottle. His head still hurts.

Josh wakes ten minutes later, walking naked through the trailer, poking at appliances, plugging in a toaster. "Hey," he says.

"Hi," Tyler says.

Josh sniffs, yawning. "Slept well?"

Tyler watches the couple in the trailer over change the channel to the news. Tyler sees dead bodies, a police officer with body armor saying, _"Everything is okay. They left. They're gone from this neighborhood."_

Tyler squeezes the pill bottle. "Yes."

*

The first day with Josh is fine. They spend it unclothed, their flesh being branded by every surface available in the trailer. If it can support their weight, Tyler climbs on, sometimes on his stomach, other times on his back, and Josh fucks him until they're hearing colors and cursing household plants. Josh makes it a game of it first, suggesting they shout whatever pops into their head upon orgasm. Tyler screams, "Cotton candy," the first time; Josh, "Coconuts." They've moved onto different plants now, Tyler pleading for cacti and Josh wanting carnations.

They carry on long into the night. Tyler needs this. Tyler needs this.

*

Tyler sleeps better tonight. The migraine is a dull hum, gentle, like his mother rocking him back to dream another dream. Josh is awake this time, looking at the ceiling, his hair a mess of curls and small trenches belonging to fingers. They're wearing clothes, huddling under two blankets. Tyler presses himself to Josh. Josh has sunlight in his hair.

"You should sleep some more," he says. "It's still early."

"I don't want to." Tyler touches Josh's arm. "Let's take a walk."

Josh's expression is hesitant. It turns into acceptance quickly, but Tyler saw. "Yeah."

It's later than when Tyler stepped out the day before. More people are present, the couple in the trailer across from them walking their kids to the end of the road. They wave at Josh, and Josh smiles. The kids have grins on their faces, a skip in their step. Songs leave their lips, happy ones, ones that Tyler remembers from his childhood. He has no business singing them now. He ducks his head down, holding on to the crook of Josh's elbow. "What is this place?" Tyler asks. "Who are all these people?"

"They're just people," Josh says, taking Tyler to the sign he found yesterday. "A haven." Josh laughs a little. "'Safe Heaven', funny." Tyler doesn't laugh. Josh clears his throat. "We're safe, and that's all that matters."

The girl exits her trailer, a lit cigarette in her mouth, her body wrapped in a coat with fake fur. "Hey, Josh."

"Hey."

She looks from Josh to Tyler, and then back again. A smirk plays at her lips. "Can you feel it?" she asks. "It's going to happen soon."

Tyler squeezes Josh's arm. Josh rolls his eyes. "Shut up."

She shrugs, starting down the steps and getting into a pickup truck. Tyler watches her drive away, a death grip on Josh's arm. "Josh," Tyler whispers, "I can feel it, too."

"No, you don't." He shakes his head. "You don't."

*

It starts in the pit of Tyler's stomach, a feeling of absolute dread. It pours into his veins, burns his eyes, dries his mouth. He sits on the kitchen floor, turning his phone over in his hands. It's charged, battery half-dead. He reads through news, flipping through article after article, watching video after video. _"We were told They were going to forgive us. They said They had the power to forgive us. They wanted to save us. They said They only took the ones who couldn't be saved."_ Tyler chews on his thumb. _"They don't do this in other towns? In other states? What do They do then? They told us we needed to die in order to be reborn, but some of us couldn't be reborn."_ The woman on camera is crying, furiously wiping the tears from her cheeks. _"Are you telling me They killed our family for nothing?"_

Tyler goes to another video. It's one of Them, from another state, police officers in riot gear around Them. _"I can assure you Our intentions are to not kill you. We do not condone the Others' behavior. We do save you. You welcome Us into your hearts, and We save you."_ Their eyes blink, dark, compassion. They don't even hiss; They don't even sound like They can produce a hiss. Tyler can replay that hiss in his head on loop until he's on his deathbed. He looks into Their eyes and sees love and comfort, and it doesn't make sense with the ones he has seen filled with so much hate and venom. _"We mean you no harm. Please believe Us."_

Josh is standing by, leaned against the counter. His head is bowed, occupied with something on the floor. He only speaks when spoken to. "So, They're not here?" Tyler shoves his phone in his pocket. "Right? This is 'a place away from Them', so They're not here."

"They do come, but it's when They're needed."

"How do They know when They're needed?"

"They know." Josh stares at Tyler. "They know."

Tyler gets up, his hands coming to grip a kitchen chair. "I don't want to hear that sound again, Josh. You know what I'm talking about, yeah? You always knew when They would come. I don't want Them to come again, Josh. I don't think I can handle that. You… you must know how it feels to go underwater and come back when you don't want to come back. You told me you didn't want to come back. I never want to come back. I don't want to be saved. I want to, to, to—"

He collapses in Josh's arms, dry sobbing into Josh's neck. Josh brings him closer, his hands working circles into Tyler's shoulders. "You don't mean that. Everybody wants to be saved." At Tyler's shaking head, Josh digs his fingers into Tyler's shoulder. "No, stop. You don't mean that."

"I do mean that. I do, I do, I do—"

"No, you don't. Shut up. You don't mean that." Josh scoops Tyler from the floor, taking him down the hall, turning a corner into the small bathroom. The trip is short. Tyler doesn't know what's happening until the tub begins filling with water. "Stop squirming," Josh says, his hold on Tyler tight. "You need this."

"What are you doing?" Tyler is weak, hasn't been eating properly for days. He's running on fumes from pain pills taken early that morning. He needs more. He needs more. He swears he hears the whirling, the whirling, the whirling. Lights flicker, and his head feels ready to explode. "Josh, put me down—no, no, please, not in the tub. I didn't mean the tub."

Regardless of his pleas, Josh still lowers him into the tub, clothes and all, and turns off the faucet once the water begins sloshing onto the floor. "You're going to be okay," Josh says, taking a fistful of Tyler's hair and shoving him underneath the water.

It's not even warm. It's so damn cold. Tyler shivers, convulses, and he fights it. He fought it at first. He cried for his mother as They brought him down. If he fought, They held him down longer, until the bubbles stopped. Tyler puts up a fight. He kicks, rocks, the water hitting Josh, hitting the walls. His foot connects with the faucet. It hurts. Everything hurts. It's dark. Everything is dark. His muscles disappear, his bones grow brittle, and his chest cracks in two. He hears it: the cracking, the whirling, the hissing. It's all coming back to him, the horror, the pain, the release. It's easier to let the water enter the lungs. It's easier to let go. It's easier to die. Take him, please, please, please, take him. He doesn't want to come back. He doesn't want to come back.

But he comes back. Gasping, vomiting, coughing, he sucks up oxygen and breathes in oxygen and feels the oxygen, and he's wet, soaking wet, his skin threatening to prune. Tears pour down his face, but he pretends they're not tears. He can taste salt.

The room is comfortable, cozy, his head light, full of bubbles. More of the water is outside the tub than in it, and Josh is dripping. His chest is heaving, strands of Tyler's hair stuck to his fingers. "You're going to be okay," he says, his voice raspy, like he's holding in something.

Tyler pats the water with his palms, his clothes pinning him in place. His head doesn't hurt. He can hear everything but the whirling and hissing. They're gone. They're gone. Tyler breathes, and he is free.

He looks at Josh, looks at his warm black eyes and sharp teeth, and Tyler doesn't feel free anymore. He doesn't breathe. He can't breathe. He wants to go back under the water. "You're one of Them."

Josh chews on the inside of his cheek. "Kind of."

Tyler shuts his eyes. He doesn't open them. He doesn't want to open them.

*

Tyler dreams of going to a carnival with Josh, holding hands under the flashing lights from the rides. Josh pulls him onto the Ferris wheel, and they kiss when it stops at the top. The stars are cameras, flashing, blinding. Tyler's lips redden, and Josh nibbles at his neck, his teeth scraping his skin, pulling, eating. Tyler watches the sky, the stars turning into spaceships. They flicker, and they disappear. The flying saucers are the carts on every ride, everywhere, They're everywhere. Josh is eating him, getting drenched in blood. Tyler becomes the girl with the hole in her throat, spewing blood, gagging, choking. Josh chokes him, hard, fast. Tyler is alive.

Tyler is alive.

*

He's sweating, shivering, kept under two blankets. Tyler hugs a pillow, his legs even wrapping around it. "You're one of Them," he says to Josh, nighttime, middle of the night. They're supposed to be sleeping, but Tyler can't sleep.

"Okay," Josh sighs. "I'm one of Them."

"But you don't… look like Them."

"Because I'm still human… sort of. I blend in. My eyes—"

"—are beautiful." Tyler glances at Josh, smiling a little. He hides his face in the pillow.

Josh stretches out behind him, getting under the covers. "Can I touch you?" Tyler nods. Josh strokes the back of Tyler's hip. "I was… taken by Them when I was young, like how They take anybody. My brother had died, and I… didn't want to go home without him, so They cleaned the streets and took me with Them." Josh frowns. "They did _something_ to me, and They wanted me to help Them, and I did. You, uh… you know how I was always covered in blood?"

Tyler is sick. "Don't tell me." He closes his eyes. "Tell me."

"I dismembered the bodies. They use it for fuel."

They're in the bathroom now, Tyler connected to the toilet. Josh sits next to him, rubbing, patting, comforting. "What else?" Tyler croaks. "Are you going to tell me no one actually died? That our families were just fine, but They needed the fucking body parts for their spaceship?"

"No. Your family is dead. They died. I'm sorry, Tyler."

Tyler has known all along, but it still cuts into him. He grabs toilet paper and blows his nose.

"I overheard Them discussing who They wanted to take next. I thought if I let you believe I was dead… I don't know what I thought."

Tyler's knees are wobbling. Josh holds him up as he brushes his teeth. His reflection could shatter glass.

"I'm sorry, Tyler," Josh repeats. "I'm so sorry."

*

Tyler sleeps. He doesn't want to wake up.

In between nightmares, Tyler clings to Josh. "Have you abducted me?" he asks, and Josh takes Tyler and says, "That's _foolish_." And as Tyler giggles, Josh fucks him. He fucks him, he fucks him, and he fucks him.

*

It's snowing, yet Tyler sits on the porch. He's shivering, yet he stays on the porch. The children are making a snowman, their mothers watching. Worry isn't etched on their faces anymore, only joy, happiness. Tyler rubs his arms. Josh hands him a cup of hot chocolate. "All of them," Tyler starts, "are like you."

Josh slurps, nodding.

"You escaped."

"They don't go over state lines. They're confined to that state, and that state alone. So… all of us should be okay."

"Could we go back to Ohio?"

Josh chews on his lip. "In time, I think."

Tyler pokes the top of a marshmallow. "What happened to Them?"

Josh doesn't have an answer for that. They drink in silence.

*

Some nights, Josh brings Tyler to the bathtub and holds him under until the bubbles stop. Tyler doesn't thrash, and he doesn't kick. He dies, and is reborn.

*

Some nights, Tyler hears whirling, hissing, and Josh gets on top of him and keeps his body from shaking too much. He wakes from these fits exhausted, too sore to even get out of bed. Josh makes sure the windows are open, that fresh air is sweeping the room. The trailer is small, so it doesn't take long for Tyler's head to stop throbbing, for Tyler's eyes to slide shut, for Tyler to fall asleep and dream of more peaceful things. He dreams of meeting Josh in that lawn chair, kissing him, calling him "pretty boy", but this time, there is no blood. There are smiles and messy blowjobs in the front yard. There are easy mornings and late nights. There is screaming and sex and love and love and love.

And Josh's eyes are black, but they are of love, and Tyler enjoys being loved.

*

Tyler's head doesn't hurt. It gets easier.

*

Josh is swinging his leg over his motorcycle, passing a helmet to Tyler. Tyler takes it after a brief stutter. "Are you coming with me?" Josh asks, smiling, putting on his own helmet.

"What else can I do?" Tyler looks around. "Connect with the neighbors? Sit on the roof and look at the stars?"

"Could always watch the news. What are they saying now?"

"More of Them have landed in Ohio. They're new, friendly, and some have learned to take the form of animals and even humans." Tyler wipes a smudge from the helmet with his sleeve. "How do you feel about that?"

Josh shakes his head.

"I wrote a song," Tyler says, "and I want you to hear it."

"Tonight," Josh says, "after I fuck you."

Tyler smiles.

Josh switches on the engine. The motorcycle hums. "Hop on," says Josh. "Follow me instead."

Tyler does. He has never felt more alive.


End file.
